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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932933">meet &amp; greet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirmymochi/pseuds/squirmymochi'>squirmymochi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vocaloid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Desperation, Don't Like Don't Read, Gen, Humiliation, Male Desperation, Meet and Greets, Omorashi, bladder desperation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:16:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirmymochi/pseuds/squirmymochi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fukase forgets to use the bathroom before a three hour meet and greet and winds up in a desperate situation.</p>
<p>(Heed the tags. Don't like don't read!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>meet &amp; greet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“How long till the doors open?” Fukase asks, glancing down at his phone to check the time. The meet and greet is supposed to start around noon and go all the way till three, maybe even longer considering the amount of tickets they’d sold over the past couple of weeks. Fukase isn’t exactly excited to get swarmed by the hoard of pushy, grabby fangirls and fanboys he knows he’ll have to deal with, but there are always those few kind, respectful fans that make the hours of sitting and signing and taking photos bearable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve got five minutes,” his manager tells him, holding out a cold bottle of water. “Better drink up. You’re gonna have to do a lot of talking today. We basically sold out of tickets, and now that we’re offering video packages I’m guessing people are gonna have you saying all kinds of stuff to the camera.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fukase sighs, reaching out to accept the water bottle. There’s still a few drops of water clinging to the outside, and the coolness against his skin makes him shiver. He uncaps it quickly, tilting his head back and taking a few deep swigs before he comes up for air. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been until now, and by the time his manager is calling for the doors to open he’s already downed almost all of the bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough, a crowd of loud, excited fans is ushered into the main room, forming a long line that wraps around the room like a snake. Fukase eyes the throng warily as he enters from behind the photo area, pursing his lips when the screams grow louder as the fans see him. He hears calls of “Fukase, I love you!” and “You’re the best, Fukase-san!” and smiles politely as he sits down at the signing table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile melts off his face as he feels a twinge in his abdomen, a careful reminder from his bladder of all the drinks he’d had in the morning, not to mention the water he’d just drank minutes ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shoot,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, glancing down at himself and squeezing his legs together once before relaxing again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should’ve asked to go before the meet and greet started.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hasn’t gone to the bathroom since he woke up that morning, and even that feels like forever ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll be fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tells himself as the line begins to move forward, the first nervous fan clutching his poster as he makes his way to the signing table. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s only three hours. Just try not to drink anything else and you’ll make it through.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His manager, standing at the side of the table next to Fukase, gives his chair a gentle kick as the first fan approaches. Fukase snaps back to reality, trying to smile and ignore the twinges in his bladder. “Hey there,” he says, watching the boy’s face light up at his voice. “How are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“F-Fine!” the boy exclaims in a high-pitched voice, mouth a wavery line. “I’m a big fan, Fukase-san! It’s an honor to meet you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, too,” Fukase says, sliding the poster across the table and using one of the pens on the table to sign his name. “Did you want to take a picture?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy nods vigorously, excitement seeping out of him. Fukase grits his teeth as he stands up to walk to the photobooth--he hadn’t realized how often he’d have to stand up and sit down to take pictures. He sends a quick glare at the almost finished bottle of water on the table before looking towards the camera, sticking out his tongue and doing his signature smirk before sending the first kid off with a wave and a pat on the back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next person in line is another shy one, this time a girl with Fukase’s newest CD in her hands. “Nice to meet you, Fukase-san!” she says, setting the album down in front of him carefully. “I love your music!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for your support,” Fukase says with a quick smile, scrawling his name across the front of the CD. “I’m glad you like my music.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl is practically vibrating with excitement as she poses with him for a photo, holding up a peace sign as she does. Fukase shifts his weight from one side to another as he waits for the photographer to give the OK, flashing the girl one last smile before he heads back to his seat. He presses his knees together subconsciously, hunching his back a little bit to take some of the strain off his bladder. It’s not near a dire situation yet, but he’d still prefer to get this meet and greet over before it becomes one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surely it won’t get that bad within three hours, though. And even if it does, he can always ask for a bathroom break in the middle of the session. He saw a bathroom on his way into the building, so he knows exactly where it is, and surely his fans wouldn’t mind waiting a few extra minutes while he relieves himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stores the thought in the back of his mind as the next fan approaches, turning all of his attention to the crowd. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll be over in no time,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tells himself as he signs the next CD, the girl in front of him squealing with delight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For now, you just have to wait.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Waiting, as it turns out, is not easy when you really, really have to pee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fukase is struck with this thought at the same time that his bladder contracts, causing him to slam his legs together and shift his hips from side to side. His hand is clenched into a fist on top of the table to keep it from darting down to his crotch for a quick squeeze--there are too many fans around, and if a photo of him holding himself got out to the public, it would put too large a stain on his career.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next in line!” his manager shouts, and Fukase forces himself to straighten his back and relax his arms, trying his best to appear normal. He watches the next girl in line step forward confidently, a large, glossy poster outstretched in one hand. She lays it across the table with a flourish, hitting Fukase with a glittering smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, Fukase-kun!” she says with a laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a fan of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Fukase grits out, grabbing a pen from the jar and uncapping it with shaky hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My name is Aina,” the girl says, holding out a hand. Fukase drops the capped pen to the table and grabs Aina’s hand weakly, giving it a single, jerky shake before letting go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, Aina,” he repeats, going back to signing the poster. “Did you want a pho-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I had a chance to meet you before,” Aina interrupts. “A couple years ago, actually! But I was totally sick and couldn’t make it to the event. I’m so glad I snagged these tickets so I could come meet you for reals!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad too,” Fukase says, shifting his weight in his chair as he speaks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s nice that you got to meet me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry up!</span>
  </em>
  <span> he adds in his head, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning forward on the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That poster’s been hanging on my wall ever since your debut,” Aina tells him, gesturing to the signed poster. “I thought I’d never get a chance to have your signature on it, but look at me now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Fukase agrees, nodding tensely. He’s had conversations like these with fans before, though he’s never had to pee while waiting for them to finish up their thoughts. It makes the whole experience that much more unpleasant, though he knows his manager would kill him if he ends up looking disinterested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, should we take a photo together?” Aina suggests at last, gesturing to the photobooth. “You know, to commemorate the occasion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Fukase practically sighs, though the idea of standing and posing doesn’t sound too appealing to him right now. Regardless, he forces himself to his feet, trying to hide his grimace as gravity tugs on his bladder and makes him want to squirm on the spot. He takes short, jagged steps towards the photobooth as Aina waits for him, looking into the camera with as good a smile as he can manage while she poses next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could you move your legs a bit further apart, Fukase-san?” the photographer asks, gesturing to Fukase’s lower half. Reluctantly, Fukase moves his legs a bit further apart, tensing his whole body when a small wave of need hits him. Aina doesn’t seem to notice, posing happily next to him as the photographer takes a picture with her phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for your support,” Fukase says, taking a step back towards the table, but Aina holds out a hand to stop him before he can sit again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look how cute it turned out!” she exclaims, holding the phone out for him to see. “You look amazing as ever, Fukase-kun!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fukase glances at the photo, cringing internally as he takes in his awkward stance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hopefully Aina won’t put the picture out on social media,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, but before he can sit down again something else catches his eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks as Aina moves her phone away, cold fear settling into his bones. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s one in the afternoon? How has it only been an hour?!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next!” his manager calls from beside him, but Fukase barely notices as the next fan approaches. If his need has gotten this bad in the span of an hour, and he’s got to be here all the way until three, there’s no way he’ll make it without a bathroom break. He’s about to whisper his request to his manager, but the next boy in line is already at the table, waiting with a sign board tucked under his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“H-Hello,” Fukase says, his nerves a little frayed still. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Daisuke,” the boy says, sounding almost… bored? “But don’t sign it with my name--I’m here to get a gift for my sister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t even listen to my music?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fukase thinks, trying his best not to let his annoyance show. He’s not one to flaunt a big ego, but this event was supposed to be for his </span>
  <em>
    <span>fans</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Even if this boy is just here to get a quick signature, that’s one more body he has to deal with before he can slip away and pee, and he already feels more desperate than he’d ever dared to be in front of his fans. He shifts his weight forward, leaning heavily on the table as the boy slides the sign board in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, what’s your sister’s name?” he asks, doing his best to sound calm and reasonable. If his manager catches him being rude to fans, he’ll never hear the end of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Her name is Makoto,” the boy says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She has, like, all of your CDs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s great to hear,” Fukase says, his breath hitching at the end as he’s hit with a small surge of desperation. He pushes his arms into the table and lifts his ass barely an inch off the seat, tensing his legs and locking them at the knee as he finishes signing. “It was nice to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to get a picture, too,” the boy cuts him off, and Fukase feels a flare of anger inside his stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell? This kid doesn’t even like my music, and now he wants a picture?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Fukase’s manager says, speaking for him when he takes too long to answer. “Is it for your sister? We could have Fukase hold up the sign board and record a video message to make it special.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, that’s fine,” the boy says dismissively. Fukase balls his hands into fists, letting out a long, slow breath to keep his temper in check. His bladder chooses that moment to contract again, and without thinking he reaches under the table to grab himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The relief of pressure against his dick for the first time in an hour is heavenly, his need automatically reduced to a dull nagging feeling. He sighs out loud, taking a second to enjoy the outside help, but his relief is short lived. Both his manager and the boy are staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to head for the photobooth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Fukase says, not feeling very sorry at all, and reluctantly lets go of his crotch to grab onto the sign board and push himself into a standing position. The boy follows him in front of the backdrop (though each step Fukase takes feels like a mini earthquake inside his abdomen) and stands blankly next to him while the photographer sets up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What should I say to her?” he asks the boy, gripping the sides of the signboard with white knuckles. God, he feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his whole body tensed and locked, and now he has to appear normal on video to make this jerk’s sister happy. He hopes he doesn’t look as desperate as he feels, though he can tell from the looks he’s getting that it’s clear something’s wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not sure,” the boy says, uncaring. Fukase resists the urge to snap at him, tapping his foot against the ground impatiently. Standing still is </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Recording in three, two, one,” the photographer says, holding out the phone. Fukase forces his usual smile back onto his face, holding up the sign board for his fans to see. “H-Hi, Makoto,” he says, his voice wavering a bit. “Thank you for, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, being one of my best fans!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s hit by a sudden urge in the middle of his sentence, his bladder reminding him that it’s not happy with being ignored. He bends forward at the waist, crossing one leg over the other and holding the board a bit lower, trying to hide his awkward pose. “This is F-Fukase, thanking you for your love and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sssupport</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hisses the last word, his nose scrunching up as he shifts his hips back and forth, fighting his need as subtly as he can. His face grows red as a couple of his fans shoot him wary looks, trying to cover up his mistake with a wider-than-usual smile, and thanks whatever deity is out there when the photographer gives the all clear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” the boy says, taking his phone back and heading for the exit. Fukase shoots a displeased glance at the back of his head before hurrying back to his seat. He leans over to his manager, who holds a finger up to the next girl in line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, Fukase?” she asks in a whisper, meeting his gaze. “Something wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we take a break for a minute?” Fukase asks, matching her quiet tone. “I need to go to the bathroom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it an emergency?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… No,” he answers, opening and closing his legs ever so slightly. “I just-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then no, we can’t,” his manager tells him, much to his dismay. “You’re going through the crowd much slower than usual today. Maybe those custom videos weren’t such a good idea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I need to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fukase,” she says sharply, “I’m serious. We have to get through this crowd as quickly as possible. Do you want to make the fans at the end of the line wait?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No buts. Let me know when it’s an emergency. Until then, keep signing and posing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile,</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah… Okay,” Fukase sighs, running his lip between his teeth. Sure, it’s not an emergency just yet, but he really doesn’t think he can make it another two hours without some serious damage to his stage costume. But as tiring as these events can be, he doesn’t want to disappoint his fans, and he knows that making them wait while he goes to the bathroom would probably put them in a bad mood. So he resigns himself to his fate, crossing his legs once again as the next person in line is waved forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels like hours have gone by by the time the clock hits two, and yet Fukase can’t recall a single name he’d heard or a single thing he’d signed. At this point his focus is directed entirely to not leaking into his costume, and not dancing around wildly while he records his messages and takes photos with fans. He’s already gotten enough weird looks for taking too long to get to the photobooth and letting a few embarrassing sounds slip during conversation, and now that that last bottle of water has hit him, he can barely even tell what he’s saying to his fans anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fukase-san?” the boy in front of him says, possibly for the second or third time. “Are you alright? You’re sweating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“S-Sorry,” Fukase replies shakily, wiping at his brow with an unsteady hand. “Hot in here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you want to take a p-picture, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re not feeling up to it, it’s alright,” the boy says sympathetically. “I don’t want you to get sick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s feeling fine,” Fukase’s manager speaks up with a wave of her hand. “I’ll have the staff bring the temperature down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait-” Fukase starts, but his manager is already heading for the door in search of a building manager. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit!</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks to himself, his whole body tensed and trembling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How am I supposed to take a break now?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s really alright, Fukase-san,” the boy says understandingly. “You don’t need to strain yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fine,” Fukase assures him. Sure, he feels like he’s going to explode any minute now, and the only thing he can think about is the hot, pulsing need to piss, but he wants to do this. The boy had an old copy of his first ever album--he’s a true fan, and he deserves to be treated well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He manages to stand and hobble over to the photobooth, though he’s bent at an odd angle the whole time. The boy stands next to him, glancing over with worry a couple of times, but he seems happy enough to get his picture taken. “Thank you so much!” he says with a smile as the photographer hands his phone back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of c-course,” Fukase says with a strained smile, returning to his seat as quickly as he can. The minutes in between photos where he gets to sit down are doing wonders to keep his pants dry, but every time he has to stand back up it feels like his desperation doubles. He’s never had to go this bad in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s sure of it. As soon as his manager gets back, he’s making a break for it, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to make it another five minutes in the state he’s in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s about to call the next girl up, but she bounds up to his table without prompting. As soon as Fukase sees her his heart sinks into his stomach, dread overtaking him. He knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what kind of fan this girl is, and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> ready to deal with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fukase-chan, I love you so much!” the girl exclaims, clapping her hands together excitedly. “OMG, I’m literally gonna die!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t,” Fukase says, his eyebrows drawing together in pain. He presses his thighs together and reaches under the table as subtly as he can, giving his dick a quick squeeze. (It barely helps at this point, but he has to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to keep himself sane.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you write a special message on this?” the girl asks, setting down a large, glossy poster. “Write ‘Dear Hana, thank you for being the best fan in the world. Love, Fukase-chan’!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Like hell I’m writing that!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fukase thinks, groaning in pain for more reasons than one. “Actually, we aa</span>
  <em>
    <span>ahh-</span>
  </em>
  <span> aren’t doing special m-messages, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, today,” he stammers. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t you make an exception for me?” the girl asks, batting her eyelashes at him sweetly. “I paid a lot of money to be here, after all!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Fukase snaps, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He grabs a pen and uncaps it in a rush, scrawling the horrible, disgusting message across the bottom of the poster. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll be faster if you just go along,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, still angry as he finishes writing. He stops short of calling himself “Fukase-chan”, though he’s almost distracted enough to write it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eee!!” the girl squeals, jumping up and down. Fukase clenches his teeth, his hands fisted on top of the table as he shifts and shimmies his hips around the seat. God, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to giving up and bolting out of the room, though he’s not sure he’d even make it to the bathroom he’d seen earlier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to make it! Just hold on a little bit longer, and then you’ll get your relief.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels a jet of pee shoot to the tip of his dick and gasps audibly as he slams his hands down on the table, crossing his legs and squeezing every muscle in his body to keep the piss from getting out. His face feels hot and damp, and his eyes are watering, and yet the girl in front of him is still painfully oblivious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s take a picture, Fukase-chan!” she insists, grabbing one of his hands and pulling with all her might. Fukase gasps once again as he’s forced to his feet, his legs snapping together and bending at the knees as gravity pulls on his poor, overfilled bladder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No no no!</span>
  </em>
  <span> he begs, hunching over and pressing his hand into his thigh, barely keeping himself from burying it in his crotch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be shy!” the girl insists, giving him another small tug. Fukase has no choice but to stumble after her as she drags him to the photobooth, physically shaking from the effort it’s taking to keep the ocean of piss from flooding his pants right then and there. He yanks his hand out of hers with a glare, though it’s weakened by his intense desperation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he pants as the girl hands her phone to the photographer. “Please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>make it quick.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t worry, silly!” the girl exclaims, and to Fukase’s horror, she reaches out to wrap her arms around his middle and squeeze him tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pressure against his bladder is absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>torture</span>
  </em>
  <span>, an unbearable wave of desperation overtaking him as Hana squishes his abdomen. He lets out a strangled cry and breaks away from her hold, whipping around for some semblance of privacy and pawing desperately at his crotch until he gets a good hold of his dick. He squeezes his palm around the tip, but despite his iron grip, a long, hot spurt of piss dribbles out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fukase lets out a long, pained moan, stomping his feet on the ground and shaking his hips around as he tries to cut off the stream. It feels absolutely horrible to deny himself relief for a second longer, but he manages to stem the flow before it hits the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fukase-chan, what’s wrong?” the girl asks, a hand reaching out to rub his back. Fukase jerks away from her touch, causing another spurt of piss to jet into his pants. His hands are covered in sticky, warm liquid, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> there’s a huge stain on his clothes, but he doesn’t even care anymore. All he cares about is getting to a bathroom </span>
  <em>
    <span>asap</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no matter what he has to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breaks away from the girl, darting through the crowd with his hands buried between his legs, dribbles of piss escaping him every couple of steps. He hears gasps of shock and disgust all around him, but the crowd is too thick to tell where they’re coming from, and he doesn’t care either way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves this way and that, trying his hardest to get to the main exit that leads to the hall with the bathrooms, but he’s not looking where he’s going, and before he knows it he’s running headfirst into a figure entering the room. Fukase stumbles backwards, the impact running through his whole body, just shocking enough to break his hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, ah! Ohhhh…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Fukase moans as warm, sticky urine floods his hands, running straight through his saturated pants and pattering onto the ground. His legs shake under him as he releases hours worth of piss, his head tipping back in pure and utter relief. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>heavenly</span>
  </em>
  <span> to let go after the stress of holding for so long, and yet he still feels the shame of wetting himself in front of his fans through it all…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fukase’s eyes snap open, the sound of urine hitting urine deafening over the shocked silence of the crowd. His stomach sinks as he takes in the hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into him, but despite it all he can’t cut off his stream. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no no no! They can’t- I can’t- This can’t be happening!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, his stream tapers off, a few stray spurts fighting their way out before he’s finally empty. Every single person in the room is staring, and more than a few people have their phones out, recording the whole ordeal. He feels his face heat up in shame, and yet he’s completely frozen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, clear the room,” his manager says, picking herself up from where he’d bumped into her on her way back. “Security, you’re on damage control. I need those videos deleted before they hit the internet. Fukase-san, let’s get you to the back room for some clean-up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fukase snaps out of it, scurrying towards the back as fast as he can to avoid the eyes following him. His legs are cold and wet with aging piss, and he smells like a public restroom, and he’s sure that no matter what damage control security can do, the rumors will still spread like wildfire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He covers his face with his piss-soaked hands and closes his eyes, hoping against hope that he’s just dreaming. But deep down, he knows that this is real, and that he’s never going to be able to live it down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he decides, angry tears springing to his eyes,</span>
  <em>
    <span> was the worst meet and greet out of them all by far.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that really is saying something.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hit up <a href="https://squirmymochi.tumblr.com/">My Tumblr</a> if you want to see more!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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